


The Last Dragons

by BombGirlPow



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-15 18:36:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11811873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BombGirlPow/pseuds/BombGirlPow
Summary: Daenerys is not the last dragon to walk Westeros. A story of Jon Snow's lineage revealed and the fallout.*Contains spoilers*





	The Last Dragons

**Author's Note:**

> This prompt fill for galratool over on Tumblr for my drabble challenge A Fortnight of Jonerys.

She remembered snowfall from her dreams - the visions from the House of the Undying back in Qarth. The real stuff burned the skin a little bit more, but in the truth of it, she still felt as if she were dreaming - it was hard to come to terms with Viserion’s death, and the impending threat from beyond the wall. 

But it wasn't all dread and despair, and she couldn't quite understand these feelings of mixed sadness and a sense of sheer elation for her new feelings towards the King in The North. 

He had been absolutely frustrating, stubborn, recklessly foolish, and yet at the same time, the most honorable, brave and humble soul she had ever met. A kindred spirit who has seen the impossible, just as she, with eyes unclouded and a passion to lead his people justly in his heart.

It was daunting. She had felt truly alone atop of her own claim to the Throne, responsibility for thousands crushing her into the ground. And then along came Jon Snow, the oddest, most intriguing man she had ever met, claiming the impossible, and yet like her bearing the weight of leadership upon brooding shoulders. 

Now, amongst all of the complex emotions swimming about her breast, she felt a sense of nervous excitement -They’ve been traveling back towards his family keep, Winterfell, for around a month now. She was finally to meet his family and his people, a hard lot who surely held no love for the former Targaryen reign. And to be honest, for the first time in her life she was worried about what others might think of her. Jon held such a high place in her heart that she wanted his family to accept the place she undoubtedly held in his own. Come morning they should finally arrive at their destination. 

One last night to spend with the Northern King in her tent. She rolled over, too nervous and giddy to sleep, and studied his sleeping frame. He was at peace tonight, handsome features betraying no signs of nightmare from his past. She smiled. It was good to see. Ever since that night he had come into her cabin seeking her - her body, her comfort, her tender caress - they had been hooked on each other and now spent every night together. And sleep didn't come easy to the man. Hells, it had been hard for her with the horrors she's seen. So usually they would exhaust themselves upon each other until fighting sleep became nigh impossible. 

She kissed him tenderly on his brow, drawing a sleepy smile - one of his rare, brilliant ones - and he stirred lightly awake. 

“Trouble sleeping Your Grace?” he murmured groggily, voice hoarse with sleep and that beguiling Northern brogue. She smiled. 

“ Yes...I must admit that I'm a bit nervous of what your family might think of me.”

He reached out a sleepy hand and caressed her silver hair. “Aye, the Dragon Queen nervous is a sight I've never thought to see.” He returned the kiss, “they will adore you Dany, as I do, once they see your good heart. It's hard to miss.”

The joke wasn't lost to her. They hardly tried to hide their dalliance - what could advisers truly say to a King and Queen’s nightly ventures? Over supper one night and after many horns of ale, Ser Davos jovially jabbed at Jon’s pride by regaling her with his growing affection that had started all the way back in Dragonstone. She would be lying if she said it didn't all start for her there as well. 

She giggled, “Jon Snow, are you, the King of Brood truly cracking a joke at my expense at this late of an hour?” 

He grinned back at her, taking the bait, “It appears so, Your Grace. How will Her Majesty dole out the punishment for such an offense?” her mirth grew to see him acting so risque and playful. A rare thing indeed. She loved seeing this side of him.

She threw the furs off of them, emboldened by his jest, and straddled his waist, much to his delight. “Hmm, perhaps some torturous kissing down your body followed by twenty lashings with the tongue.”  
He grinned up to her, clearly excited and aroused at the prospect, and crushed his mouth roughly against her own, passion engulfing them once more. 

They made love for some time, and again once more, until they were spent and exhaustion fell over them like a heavy blanket. They remained in one another’s arms as sleep finally took over, all thoughts of nervousness forgotten.

_________________________________________

The writing room in Winterfell was alight in a warm and cheerful glow, a welcome respite to the cold she was unused to. Jon’s brother Bran, and his good friend Samwell Tarly, had summoned them at once to the solar, with news that not only applied to Jon, but somehow, curiously, to herself. She couldn't possibly guess at the nature of the conversation to come, and thought there to be more pressing matters at hand than something that was deemed so personal in nature. 

Sam specified that it would be best if it were just the four of them, but Jon brushed the concern away immediately. He was an open book sort of man, and if it were truly as important as Bran made it out to be, then it would be best if everyone in his closest circle were privy to it as well. 

The docile man relented, an odd sense of sadness resting in his eyes as he admitted both the Stark sisters, Ser Davos, Varys, Missandei and her Hand Tyrion into the room as well, all taking seats around the worn and heavy oak table that sat in the middle.

Jon headed the table, Davos on his right with her and Tyrion at the opposite, the girls and the spider filing in on the sides. Bran remained before the fire, Samwell hovering close by. The quiet was palpable, a sense of foreboding washing over the room with someone as cheerful as Tarly fidgeting in clear discomfort. Bran remained stoic as always. 

Samwell cleared his throat. “Um...Jon...well, you see, we called you here, because...because I found something interesting at the Citadel...it uh...it applies to your history, and Bran has seen visions - He has visions you see - and he confirmed a theory I've been thinking over for months-”

Jon raised a hand to stop him right there. “Slow down there Sam. I'm confused - what's all this with Bran and visions?”

Jon’s younger sister, Arya, butted in, clearly excited to see what this meeting was all about. “Bran has visions Jon. He went north of the wall and got all these weird powers and stuff. He can see into the past and future - really, he's seen mine and Sansa’s.”

Dany raised a brow towards Tyrion, who appeared just as clueless as herself. The Starks affinity towards impossible things seemed to keep getting stranger.

Jon too looked uncomfortable, clearly at a loss, and had difficulty hiding his surprise, “You went north of The Wall Bran? How? Why?”

The younger Stark betrayed no emotion as he spoke, “I had dreams Jon. The Three Eyed Raven beckoned me in my sleep to follow and I had to.” he paused, considering how to best prove his statement, “I saw you at Craster’s Keep. I saw you cut down your brothers as vengeance for Jeor Mormont.” He eyed the King solemnly, “and I saw many other things. Things I actually wasn't there for. I saw when you held the wall against the Wildlings’ invasion, when you saved thousands in Hardhome, and beat Ramsay in the courtyard here at Winterfell… I saw Ygritte perish when Olly shot her down. I saw you die and I saw your revival.”

Jon’s eyes went wide with shock, the weight of his brother’s words cutting right through him. Dany wasn't sure she had ever seen him so disquieted by anything. 

The discomfort of the room had grown tenfold, completely rendering control of the conversation to Bran’s words alone. Dany felt like she could hardly breathe. What nature of magics was this? It nearly paled the wizard’s in Qarth’s mythical powers by comparison. 

Bran turned back towards the fire, gazing into it's flames. 

“I know who your mother is Jon…” he glanced back towards his brother. “And your father.”

The King’s brows furrowed in frustration. “What do you mean my father?” he looked about the room towards everyone else, and huffed out a breath, “We have the same father.”

Bran looked almost sad when he heard Jon say these words. The first sign of emotion Dany had seen upon the boy’s face. She leaned forward, completely enraptured by his every word. 

“No,” he said simply. “You're wrong. You're not Ned Stark’s son. You're not even a Snow. Father claimed you were his bastard to protect you. Because he loved aunt Lyanna, and she made him promise.”

He continued, sympathy etched upon his voice. “Your name is Aegon Targaryen. Son of Lyanna and Rhaegar Targaryen.”

Daenerys hand shot up to cover her mouth. It was if in that moment time had frozen. So silent the fire’s crackling turned to a roar and the snowfall outside deafening. Eternity stretched thin and the world folded in on itself. 

“You're lying!” Arya shot up and out of her seat, knocking over her chair, with Sansa clambering to get a hold of her. 

Jon stood dumbfounded, clearly in disbelief, “No...absolutely not.” He laughed, “You jest. This is...that’s insane...impossible” his eyes were distant, focusing in and out to the present, as he shook his head. He nervously chuckled, looking about the room for any sign at that would indicate that everyone was playing him. The room remained deathly silent in response. 

Samwell decided to speak up in that moment. “No Jon...he’s...telling the truth. I have something here for you- It was found in the Citadel. It's um...well, you should read it for yourself.” from within his robe’s many pockets the gentle portly man procured something - a weathered piece of parchment with a broken wax seal - Dany didn't have a terribly good position to see it in it’s entirety, but she could glean a sigil pressed upon the wax’s broken surface - the three headed dragon of House Targaryen. She sat taller and balled her fists in anticipation. Was she dreaming again? 

Jon stared at the offered document, eyes bewildered, hesitating to take it into his own hands. 

Tyrion leaned in close to Daenerys’s ear, and whispered, “We shouldn't be here for this. Samwell was right this is-” she gestured to silence him. 

With a shaking hand, Jon took the offered parchment, with Sam’s other snaking to rest upon it as a sign of solidarity. With sympathy in his eyes, he gave the King’s hand one last squeeze before releasing it.

It looked fragile - several decades old and worn - clearly unmaintained and forgotten. Jon eyes went soft as they rose to meet it’s words. 

He sucked in a breath as if stabbed, finding the truth he clearly didn't want to see - proof of Bran’s words. 

“How…” he let it fall from his hands and onto the table, his breathing becoming agitated. “How can? I can't -I can't breathe…” Davos immediately went to his side, concern etched into his face, but Jon immediately pushed him away. 

Daenerys sprang to her own feet, a stab of pain piercing into her heart to see him in such a panicked state, whilst simultaneously burning with need to see the document for herself. This was impossible. How could it be true? There had to be a misunderstanding. 

Bran refused to relent, “Jon, I saw your birth at the Tower of Joy in Dorne. I saw father and Howland Reed cut down the kingsguard - I saw your mother lay you into his hands-” 

The whole room exploded with activity, everyone simultaneously voicing their outrage and surprise. 

“Bran stop it!” Sansa cried from across the room, willing her brother to stop. Arya slammed her hands upon the document, scraping it towards herself to read. Varys leaned into Missandei’s ear in animated agitation- surely this changes many things.

And in all of the tumultuous uproar, Dany could still see Jon, dumbstruck, numb, shaking his head no.

She had to do something. She had to protect him. “ENOUGH!” She roared with a Queen’s authority, slamming her fist upon the table and shocking everyone into silence. “Out. All of you!”

She was met with some questioning stares - Arya’s challenging her the most - but they all relented and moved to leave.

Jon's eyes briefly met her own, before they darted away, as if meeting her gaze had pained him. “No. No, stay...I...I need to go…” He said weakly, shoulders slumped and mouth pulled tightly in a bitter frown. 

And with that, he left. 

_________________________________________

Hours later she had found him in the Godswood. 

Though to be truthful, it was by sheer happenstance. He had wanted to be alone, and though it went against her own desire to go to him, she had respected that. Swarmed by her own thoughts, she had been walking the Keep’s grounds, almost like a ghost, no direction in particular upon her mind. Just a will to keep moving.

Tyrion and Varys had wished to speak to her at once on all of this - the revelation perhaps changing everything. She denied them their request - needing to sort through her own thoughts - solitude now a thing found in common with the man who held her heart. 

He was in deep thought - so much so that he didn't initially notice her approach - and upon spotting him she had hesitated to bring attention to herself. She took a breath in and steeled herself. The talk needed to happen at some point - Now was better than never.

She stepped lightly upon the freshly fallen snow, attempting to avoid startling him. The crunch against her feet was unavoidable though, and his senses honed from living years atop the Wall too great. His eyes rose to meet her own, the tension between them becoming immediately palpable.

He had been resting his back across a Great Heart Tree, sword drawn and forgotten in the snow nearby - dried sweat sticking curls to his brow. She noticed a nearby pine that had been hacked to bits.

She was at a loss of what to say. “Jon…”

His eyes that had rung hollow a moment ago immediately grew pained. Whether it was because it was her presence or the name she uttered, she didn't know. She suspected both. 

“I don't want the Iron Throne.” He blurted out immediately, eyes darting to look at his feet.

It was if he had struck her, his words cut so deep. She sucked in a breath, fighting to keep her temper down at such a hurtful statement. “Do you really think of me that way? That, of all things else that would be my greatest concern right now?!”

He flinched, realizing his mistake, “No...I didnt mean...apologies Your Grace. I Misspoke. I didn't mean it like that.”

She immediately softened, feeling sympathy for his disoriented state. His hands were clenching and unclenching, brows furrowed and at a loss to articulate what he actually means. She herself had trouble grasping the truth, but couldn't even fathom what he must be going through. The father who raised him, who loved him and lied for him - all an illusion. His childhood - a farce. Her own had been tragically difficult, but at the very least her identity had always been her own - regardless of how hard Viserys had tried to manipulate that. 

The silence stretched much too thin for her comfort, so she decided to speak first. “Many things have bombarded my thoughts with what we have learned today...but I assure you, I thought upon succession very briefly - a fragment of a thought at the back of my mind.” She approached him, considering reaching out a hand and deciding against it. She didn't want to push him farther away.  
She continued, “I grew up...isolated. I only had my brother Viserys in my life, monstrous and hounding my every move. Dictating my thoughts and actions.” She wrapped her arms about herself, ghosts of the past haunting her vision, “I hated him. I wished for my own death at times he had made my life so unbearably miserable...but...when I lost him...when he perished…” she chuckled bitterly, “I was so pathetically weak that I actually mourned him. He was my family. And then I was left alone in the world. The last of my family, exiled, with nary an ally.” 

He sighed, and moved his pained eyes to meet her own. A brilliant mixture of sympathy and an aftertaste of devastation lingering within them. She continued, “I know...I know that you don't want this. That this is confusing and hurtful for you. That you must feel betrayed and lost...but I have to let you know, that at the forefront of my mind, right behind my desire to hold and comfort you and fight all the pain away, I'm...somehow I'm relieved. And I don't feel so painfully, dreadfully alone anymore. It's selfish perhaps...and I apologize...but Jon...you’re everything that has been eluding me my entire life.”

Her words washed over him, yet seemed to do the opposite of what was intended. He bit down on his lip and swallowed hard, casting a glance to the side. “Dany...we’re related. And I...we’re…”

She shook her head and stepped closer, “I am a Targaryen. You,” she took his hand, desperate to make him understand - to save this, to save what they were, “are a Targaryen.” her voice started to break, “It doesn't matter to me. All my life - throughout my entire childhood - they told me I would be wed to Viserys-”

He forced his hand away, “You don't understand! You couldn't! I am of the North! I don't care who they say my father was - I am Ned Stark’s son, raised Ned Stark’s son! This isn't easy. This isn't something that I or anyone can will away!”

Her face twisted in pain, “Do you think Stark to be better than me? Above me? Can you say that such pairings have been completely devoid within your mother’s lineage?”

He shook his head, somewhat deflated, and paused to consider her words. 

A chilled breeze had struck at last, carrying a light flurry of snowfall with it. Daenerys tightened her cloak about herself, both to shield herself from the oncoming cold in the air, and the cold that had grown between them. Jon seemed unaffected by it. 

“No...I suppose I cannot say so.” He unclenched his fists, defeated. 

“Why...why would they tell me these things? What good does it do? Why does it matter? The Night King is on our doorstep with hundreds of thousands of the undead marching upon us! And they thought to do this to me now?! They thought of all times to reveal such a stupid fucking thing and dump it upon my lap atop of everything else?”

She looked at him sympathetically, understanding very well what it feels like to have the weight of the world thrust upon her shoulders. “ Yes...I understand...but you've told me once before how much you've wished to have known your mother, like I’ve wished to have known mine. Perhaps now, with everything falling upon us it can be something of a blessing rather than a curse? You've reclaimed your history Jon.” 

“My history?! There's no time for that! No time for any of that! No time for sentimental bullshit to effect me in the wake of everything else.” He hesitated, clearly uncomfortable with what he wished to say next, and gestured between the two of them, voice barely above a whisper, “There’s no time for any of this Dany.” His words struck her cold. He clearly meant their relationship- whatever they were to one another. “If we can't pull together and amass enough of a force, come the next few weeks there will be nothing. We’ll all be dead.”

She reeled about, dragon’s fury finally awakening. She would not let him quit this so fast. Not without a fight. She couldn't lose him. “Death!? We are alive Jon Snow! Right here, right now. We are blood and flesh and breathing, in this very moment, alive.” she thrust her arms out, agitated with his defeatist attitude, “You of all people should know the importance of that! You have died and came back to the realm of the living! Are you really going to take that for granted? Are you really going to let that slip away because of an impending doom that may not even win out? How dare you give up so easily!?” She got in his face, inches barely apart, so close she could feel the heat radiating off his body in the chill. He was breathing hard, words battering against him, sinking In. “I want you Jon! As long as I breathe I will always want you. And I will always fight to live another day just to be with you. Don't you dare give up yet!” against her will, hot tears of frustration started falling from her eyes, fury too great to even bother to wipe them away. 

In that moment he kissed her, desperately, with a need she had never known in a lover before. Her words had cast his heart aflame and it was if there was nothing but her lips that could possibly quell the inferno. She met him, hungrily, crying out with heady desire. All thoughts were gone, tears forgotten, leaving only the taste of Jon, and the taste of victory. 

He pressed her forcefully against the sacred heart tree, unconcerned with the possible sacrilege they were to commit. Damn the Old Gods and the New. They were alive, here, and nothing else could fall between them. 

They made love there, in the Godswoods, the eyes of the Heart Tree the only ones to bear witness. The two Last Dragons, united at last.

**Author's Note:**

> Yup...they totally banged on Bran's favorite tree. 
> 
> Also if you liked this please follow me over on Tumblr (bombgirlpow). I'll have another drabble posted tomorrow.


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